No Amount of Time or Space
by CamsthiSky
Summary: So Dick isn't okay as he'd like people to think, but what's new? Well, communication, apparently. Or Tim reminds Dick that communication is important aspect of friendship and Dick talks to his friends and tries to reconnect with the friends he'd lost in the face of the Reach's invasion. Unsurprisingly, it's hard. Part 5 of Tact
1. Dick Grayson and Tim Drake

**So I lied about the Tact series being over, but this WILL be the last story in this story. On tumblr I said this would be eight chapters, but it's actually going to be nine. Characters, relationships, and tags will be added as they pop up. Thanks for sticking with me for this series!**

 **If you're new, you should probably read the first four in this series as it'll reference those quite a bit.**

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" Tim whispered into the dark. He couldn't see Dick's face, curled up together as they were in Dick's bed after a hard night of patrol, but it was probably for the best. Tim wasn't sure if he could ask this while looking straight at his brother.

Dick hummed sleepily. Tim took that as a yes.

"It's about Wally," he admitted, giving Dick one more chance to back out. He didn't like the idea of cornering Dick, and Wally was still something of a sore spot. When Dick didn't say anything, Tim let out a sigh. "Okay, so, how did you and Wally become friends?"

"I already told you that story," Dick said softly. "We saved each other's lives."

"Yeah," Tim said, "but I guess that isn't really—okay. So, what I meant was how were you friends?"

Dick was silent again, and Tim could tell that he was tense. Tim sort of felt guilty for springing this on the guy after the day he'd had, but it was killing him not to know. Ever since Wally had shown up all those weeks ago in the kitchen, demanding to see Dick, Tim had been curious as to how two so very different people had become friends in the first place.

But now probably hadn't been the time to ask about it.

Tim and Bruce had been getting Dick back into the game slowly when Dick just wanted to dive in, and tonight had been his first full patrol since Wally had saved his life in that alley a few weeks back. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Of course, because nobody in this family could catch a break, they'd run into a bunch of thugs with access to _fear toxin._ Scarecrow was still locked up in a cell, so they hadn't realized what they were dealing with until Dick had gotten hit with a dose. Someone on the streets had access to Crane's toxins, and Batman had ordered a retreat back to the manor until they could figure out just what the situation was.

(Tim had been lucky enough to still have an antidote on him, so Dick hadn't been too affected.)

They were under house arrest for the rest of the night—morning, it was almost two—and Bruce had pulled Tim aside once they'd gotten back and _suggested_ that Tim stay with Dick for the night in case of an ill affects while he tracked down the gang controlling Scarecrow's toxin. Tim hadn't argued. So, here they were.

And then Tim had gone and blurted out a stupid question like that while Dick was probably still being affected by the fear toxin. Great move there, Einstein.

Finally, Dick spoke, and Tim hated how small and off put he sounded. "I don't think I understand the question."

"Never mind," Tim said, his stomach flipping. He felt sick, like he was on a roller coaster. "Don't worry about it."

"But you are."

Tim blinked and sat up, looking over to where Dick was lying in the gloom. He wasn't looking at Tim, just staring at the ceiling as he waited for Tim to respond. And honestly, Tim wasn't really sure what Dick meant.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tim asked.

Dick sighed. "You're worrying about it, Timmy. I want to know what you're thinking."

"Well," Tim said uncertainly. "I just wanted to know how you and Wally could be friends when you two are so different."

"You've never known him any other way."

"Was he any other way?" Tim asked. All Tim had ever seen from Wally was anger and exhaustion. Occasionally, the guy got some glint in his eyes when he looked at Artemis, but Tim had just figured it was some sort of love. The same Tim had when he looked at Dick or Alfred or Bruce.

But with everybody else, with Dick, it wasn't there. Just with Artemis. If it had ever been there, Tim had never seen it.

"He used to be," Dick admitted. "He was my best friend, Tim. We fought together, we _died_ together, and that doesn't just go away. It used to be that I could just call him and he'd be there at my side in a second, and I tried to do the same for him. We talked to each other, we understood each other, and then I guess—"

Dick cut himself off, and he looked a little sick.

Tim didn't think a lot of that made sense, especially the part about dying, but he was trying his best to listen to what Dick was saying to him, to understand what had been between the two friends, but he also wasn't sure if he should press any further.

"Dick—"

"No," Dick said, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. It's just. I have some not so nice memories of Wally right now. You're right. We're are different now, but we didn't used to be."

"What made things different?"

Dick didn't answer, and Tim didn't know why he couldn't just leave well enough alone. Dick had probably said what he wanted to say, and now Tim was just pressing an issue that hurt Dick. His brother probably wasn't up for talking about this anymore.

But, of course, like always, Dick proved him wrong.

"I don't know," Dick admitted slowly. A hand ran down his face, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week in just that one moment. He blinked, and Tim wasn't sure that Dick was actually as okay as he'd been trying to make himself seem these past few weeks. "I don't—I don't know where we went wrong."

"Maybe that's your problem?" Tim tried, because this felt a little too important to just let go of now that he knew that Dick was struggling with it.

Dick's gaze met his, but it still felt a little too slow, like Dick's brain wasn't fully processing everything. Something cold gripped Tim's heart, and Tim tried to push past the feeling and continue.

"I mean, you and Wally aren't exactly on the same page," Tim said, clutching nervously at his (Dick's) T-shirt. "And you probably don't want to lose your friendship with Wally over that," Dick flinched, but didn't cut in, and Tim kept talking, "and I think the best way to go back to being friends would probably be to talk to him. Get on the same page as Wally. As everyone."

Dick looked at him— _through_ him—and bit his lip, and Tim could tell that Dick was turning his words over, testing them, trying to make them make sense in his head, and Tim hoped that Dick _did_ make sense of them, find some meaning to the babble that Tim was now turning red over.

"Uh," Tim started again, "just. Maybe think about that?"

And then Dick's gaze sharpened, bright blue eyes practically glowing in the semi-darkness as they met Tim's own. "I will," Dick said quietly, with a sort of intensity he only got when he had a plan, and Tim couldn't help but relax slightly. Dick kept his gaze, and told him, "Thank you."

Tim nodded. Anything. Anything to help his brother, because Dick was family and would do the same thing for him a thousand times over. Tim would do anything to help, _say_ anything to help, even if he couldn't admit.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked as they lied back down on the bed.

Dick's arm curled around his shoulder and pulled him in tight against him, and said, as honestly and sincerely as Tim had ever heard him, "I will be."

That was enough for Tim.


	2. Barbara Gordon

**So, this is probably not the character everybody wanted, but there is an order to who will appear because of the way that Dick's facing this, and I've been wanting to write Babs in this series for a while (I may or may not have a few WIPs sitting around about Dick, Tim, and Babs.**

* * *

Dick's day—his whole last year, really—had been really crappy. Honestly, he'd give anything just to be able to curl up with someone he loved and pretend that the world wasn't spinning. Just for a day or two.

Of course, it was never that easy. Alfred and Bruce were out of town on an _actual_ business trip, and Tim was on an extended mission with M'gann, Conner, Cassie, and Jaime, so he had the house completely to himself. Just Dick and some carved pumpkins, just days before Halloween.

He hated it. It felt too much like the emptiness was trying to swallow him whole. He wanted out, but he had absolutely no idea who he could call and ask to come keep him company.

Okay, so that was a lie. Dick had a whole _list_ of people he could call, but none that he thought would be willing to come over to his house and make him feel safe from his own head and the weight still somehow dripping off his shoulders—which. That didn't make any sense. He wasn't Batman anymore, he wasn't leading the Team anymore, he barely patrolled anymore, his best friend wasn't dead anymore. There shouldn't have been anything that was messing with him anymore.

But he still felt it. Like a phantom, he could still feel the way the cape sat on his shoulders, the way he could hardly move during patrols because of the drag, the way the world seemed so dark and bleak and terrifying when everything was on _him._

So an empty house was the last thing Dick needed, and yet, he got it anyways.

He didn't want to be alone, and he had no one he could really call and trust they'd pick up and drop everything. Not anymore, but the creepy jack-o-lantern that Clark had carved the day before sat on the window sill, staring at him and Dick came to the conclusion that he had to at least try, if not to just get out of his own head for more than moment.

 _are you busy?_

He shot off the text quickly before he could chicken out, and ended up pacing the foyer, tossing his phone between his hands nervously. It took almost five minutes before his phone chimed cheerfully, and Dick was almost too scared to check it.

Almost. He unlocked the phone and looked at the message.

 _Kinda. Why? Emergency?_

Dick swallowed and typed, albeit a bit shakily, _no emergency_

Maybe it had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have just let it go. An empty house probably wasn't going to kill him any time soon, and he didn't want to interrupt anything, even if his chest was just a little bit too tight, and he couldn't seem to think straight.

It was a mistake to send that text.

His phone chimed almost immediately, though, and Dick couldn't _not_ look at it.

 _I see. Just want someone to chat with then?_

 _something like that_

 _Should have just said something. Want me to come over?_

 _i thought you said you were busy_

 _It's just hw. I'll be over in a sec._

Dick snorted, his smile sad at the edges. So maybe not as much of a mistake as he had first thought. God, he couldn't believe how messed up his head space was to think he'd be rejected just for trying to text his friend. He was glad that he wouldn't have to be alone, if only because there would be someone to tell him how much of an idiot he was being.

Despite the words, Dick knew he wouldn't have any company for at least another ten to twenty minutes, so he got to work in the kitchen, flipped on all of the lights, prepped the oven, started mixing. Just for something to do, to keep him busy, and when the door opened, Dick had just slid a batch of cookies into the oven.

"Hey, good lookin'," Barbara teased as she walked into the kitchen, laughing as she swiped some dough from his cheek. "I thought Alfred banned you and Tim from making cookies after the Great Pancookie Incident of 2015."

Dick smiled, but he didn't laugh. Barbara didn't seem to mind, though. Instead she just got to cleaning up the mess Dick had made making the dough, and Dick scrambled to help.

It wasn't that he didn't think she was funny. She _was._ She was bright and sunny and everything about her made something in Dick just _melt._ But he couldn't. There was still that tight feeling in his chest that wouldn't go away, and he didn't know how to _make_ it go away. He had thought that maybe Barbara could make it go away, where Bruce and Wally and Tim and Alfred had all failed, but it wasn't working.

Barbara cleared her throat, and Dick looked up, blinking. He'd been staring at the floor, lost in thought, and Barbara had that small knowing smile on her face that said she knew _exactly_ what he was thinking.

"I'm sensing that this is more than just you wanting to chat," Barbara said, taking his hand and just holding it, grounding him. "Wanna talk about it?"

Dick opened his mouth, maybe to say _yes,_ or _no,_ or _I don't know_ , or _I think I'm going insane because I should be okay but I'm really really not_ , but what came out of his mouth was nothing more than a choked-up sob.

Nothing had triggered, just his own stupid brain, but suddenly Barbara was pulling him closer, guiding his head down to her shoulder, and he was crying on one of his best friends about absolutely nothing but being left alone, and it was so maddening. He felt like he was going insane.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, once the tears had stopped. He didn't move, but she didn't seem to move. "I don't know why I did that."

Barbara sighed. "You know, for a smart person, you're really dumb, you know that?" Like usual, she didn't give Dick time to scramble for an answer to that before she was talking again. "You were alone, after a lot of time leaning on Tim and Alfred and Bruce, and it's normal to not feel okay so soon. That's fine, so don't apologize, okay?"

"Babs," he said, his voice sort of scratchy, but still relieved and sort of awed, because, "how did you know?"

He could almost hear her eyes roll. "Despite what you like to think, I _do_ know you, Dick. I know that being alone and taking up every responsibility that came your way was your normal up until Bruce came back, and I know that you got used to everyone taking care of you these past few weeks. And with everyone gone, you're lonely again. It's hard."

They took a moment, just basking in each other's presence before Barbara pulled away and smiled at him, her fingers lingering on his arms, and Dick tried his best to smile back at her. Because she was _here,_ and it was like she's inside his head, and even though he still felt off-balance.

She pulled the thoughts he couldn't make sense of from his head and turned them into words he could try to make sense of.

"Dick," she said, pulling him back to her. She slid a hand over his cheek, her thumb gently rubbing underneath his eye. "I'm glad you called me. If you ever feel alone, just let me know, and I'll be over as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay," Dick said, and he smiled.

It was later, after the slightly burned cookies—he forgot to set a timer—were taken out of the oven, that Dick found himself sprawled out on the couch, his head in Barbara's lap, her fingers carding through his hair.

"I used to have a lot of friends," Dick said after almost ten minutes of comfortable silence. Barbara's hand stilled, but she didn't say anything, so Dick forged ahead. "Back before—before. I had a lot of people I could rely on, right?"

"I would say so," Barbara said, but she sounded cautious, like she wasn't sure where this was heading. Well, neither did Dick, so they had something common there.

"Okay, so you said that I'm feeling alone, and you're right," Dick told her, keeping his eyes on the wall. It was easier with his head in her lap. No chance of accidentally looking into those intense eyes. No chance of her extracting every bit of truth from him, whether he wanted it or not. "I don't want to feel like that anymore, but I also know it's not going to just change overnight."

"Get to the point," Barbara said gently, her fingers starting up again.

"I have something I want to run past you. Something I came up with while I was talking with Tim the other day, and I need your help. Tim's, too, but he already knows what I have in mind. Will you hear me out?"

"Of course I will." There was a smile in her voice, and Dick felt himself relaxing into her touch. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

No. He didn't, and the problem was he'd braced himself for rejection anyways. Still Dick didn't answer the question. Instead, he sat up, looked her right in the eyes, and told her exactly what he'd been thinking about the past three days.

The whole time, she never looked anything less than supportive, and Dick was glad she was always just a phone call away.

Barbara Gordon turned his crappy day into something less than awful, and honestly? Dick couldn't have asked for more.

* * *

 **So the Great Pancookie Incident is something that happened to me and my sister when I was about ten years old and sucked at following recipes. Long story short, we ended up with cookies that looked more like chocolate cookies than chocolate chip cookies.**

 **Also, on this chapter. I love Dick and Kory together, but I've always, always loved the relationship that Dick and Babs have. It's something special, even when they aren't dating-which they aren't, not in this series, at least. Everything in Tact will be platonic friend/family relationships.**


	3. Roy Harper

Dick wondered how he kept reuniting with people like this, and why they always seemed to save his life when a gun was pointed at his head. At least this time Dick was coherent enough to move the moment the arrow hit the gun and knocked it from the crook's hand. He leapt forward, sending the guy into unconsciousness with an ecrisma stick.

Dick tied him to a light pole, and the moment he stood up, Roy was ziplining towards him. When he dropped down next to him, it was all Dick could do not to sigh.

Man, he was so not ready for this conversation. He hadn't even had time to talk to Kaldur, yet.

"Thanks, for the help," Dick said with a small smile.

Roy shrugged. "Hey, I was in the neighborhood and I thought you could use a hand."

"In the neighborhood?" Dick asked, is eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Roy, we're in Gotham."

"So?"

Dick shook his head. "Did you need something, Roy?"

Roy looked at him, and it was like he was looking _through_ Dick. To be honest, Dick hadn't had much contact with Roy since June. When Dick had retreated to Gotham, had taken up the Batman mantle once again and let his friends' anger fester without a word, Roy had let him go.

The thing was, though, Roy _had_ texted him, sent him updates about Lian, about Oliver, and Dinah, about his life, but he never asked any questions. Never seemed to expect an answer. He was just _there._ They weren't often—every couple weeks or so—but sometimes they were this beacon in the darkness of the cowl that usually only Tim and Alfred could manage to be.

"Green Arrow told me Batman was back."

"So you knew."

Roy cleared his throat and looked away. "Yes."

Dick had suspected, but he'd never confirmed anything. Bruce had disappeared on that off-world mission over four months ago, had only been back about a little over a month, and he'd told practically no one. The Justice League had known—at least, the founding members had, and Dick did his part to keep it that way—and Wally storming into the kitchen all that time ago demanding Dick to step up had proved that the Justice League had kept Batman's mission a secret, even from the Team.

Roy, though. Dick had suspected from the very beginning that Roy knew exactly where his head had been at. And Dick could only really figure that Roy knew about Bruce leaving him the responsibility of the cowl.

Dick _did_ sigh this time. "Rooftop?"

"That would probably be a good idea."

* * *

"So why _are_ you here?" Dick asked when they settled up on the roof of a nearby building. The chill wasn't too bad, considering it was November, but Dick hoped to make this meeting short. "Did you just come to find out whether I was still Batman?"

Roy sighed. "No," he said, a heaviness to his voice that Dick hadn't been expecting. "No, nothing like that. I talked to Kaldur, actually. He said that you're planning on rejoining the Team."

Dick blinked. " _I_ haven't even talked to Kaldur yet," he said. "The only people I've told are Tim and Barbara, and neither of them would tell when I specifically told them not to. I mean, Bruce doesn't even know."

"It's not like it's hard to figure out, Dick," Roy told him, and he leaned back against the rooftop access building. "You even told Garfield that you were coming back."

"I didn't saw when," Dick argued back weakly.

"You didn't have to," Roy said. He titled his head back and looked at the dark sky. The Gotham sky, ever overcast, was devoid of stars, the moon half-hidden by clouds, and Dick wondered if Roy was just searching for an excuse not to look at him. "I know things have been tough for you."

"Yeah," Dick said, but he didn't elaborate, waiting for Roy to get to the point.

"What are you planning, Dick?"

Dick startled. "Wait, what?"

"You're planning something," Roy said, his words slow and careful, but he still wasn't looking at Dick. "You texted me back for the first time in four months yesterday. You're up to something."

"It's not—I'm not doing anything like before," Dick said, his eyes burning behind his domino mask. "I swear, Roy. I'm not."

"I didn't say you were."

"But you—"

"Dick." Roy finally turned back to him, and even with a mask his gaze was a comfort. It didn't burn like Wally's did, or Bruce's did sometimes, and it brought back images that Dick wasn't sure how to handle.

They'd been really good friends way back when. Six years ago, before they'd formed the Team, before everything had gone to hell, it had been Dick, Wally, Kaldur, and Roy. They'd been really good friends, and Dick had always looked up to Roy, even though it had been Dick that had started this child superhero epidemic. Roy had always seemed to understand how hard everything could be to be the ward of a rich superhero with a lot of issues.

Even when Roy had battled himself during those five years, he'd kept trying to reach his goal. He'd gone about it the wrong way, but he'd been right about the original Roy Harper in the end. And he was still someone that Dick knew he could lean on no matter what.

"I know that you're not planning anything like what you did before," Roy continued. "You're still suffering the consequences of making those hard choices, and I don't think you could ever do that to yourself, to anybody else, ever again. Not in the way you did it before, at least."

Dick didn't know what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

Roy blew out a heavy breath. "Look, I'm going to be real with you. I know I'm not really one to talk, but I don't think you went about things quite right. Still, you had good intentions, and you made a few hard choices. That's fine. So what?"

"Are you mad at me?" Dick asked. "For faking Artemis' death? For sending Kaldur undercover?"

"No," Roy said, and he sounded honest. "I'm mad that you didn't tell me. Maybe I wasn't in the right place at the time, and that's fine. But later, when I got my head on straight, you didn't say a word, Dick."

"I thought I was doing the right thing." Dick felt almost hollow inside. Bruce had berated him, too, but he hadn't sounded this calm about it, or this honest. Bruce hadn't even given him a chance to speak. "I planned and planned, and I couldn't think of another way to stop the Light and the Invasion without putting people in danger."

"We know the risks," Roy said. "Just, trust your friends, next time. Okay?"

Dick sent Roy a shaky smile. "Yeah, I know. I've already gotten yelled at by a few people already."

That seemed to frustrate Roy, though. "Damn it, Dick. You know I don't mean to lecture you about this. I just want you to understand that I'm on your side. I trust you, so will you show a little trust in me and tell me what you're planning?" Roy asked.

Dick was silent for a moment before he said, "Clark told me that I should give everyone a chance. Talk to them and hear out their feelings."

"Well that's stupid."

"Why?" Dick asked. "He's right, isn't he?"

Roy scoffed. "I don't think it's _you_ who should be giving people a chance. I'm not Wally, Dick. I get that you were under a lot of pressure and stress to stop the invasion and stop the Light, but no one stopped to see what it was doing to you. You should have had people there helping you. _I_ should have been there for you, like you've been trying to be there for me."

"Roy, you were having a hard time dealing with—"

"But you were there," Roy cut in. "You were having a hard time, too, but you were still there to try to get me back on track. You were hurting from your own choices, too, and no one took ten minutes to do anything but blame you for it."

Dick let his shoulders slump. Kaldur had something similar. He'd apologized to Dick for not being there to help him. Wounds were wounds, Kaldur had told him. Mental, physical, or emotional, they still mattered. And Kaldur had apologized for not realizing how messed up he'd been.

"Yeah, okay," Dick said. "Sorry for not clueing you in."

Roy let the tension drain from his body and relaxed back against the wall. "It's okay, Dick. Just tell me what you're planning, and I'll see if I can lend a hand, okay?"

Dick smiled. "Yeah. Thanks, Roy."

"No problem."

* * *

 **We're finally getting somewhere.**


End file.
